Saturday, October 10, 2009

Cyrin straightened his uniform after standing up from his desk. He had just finished a majority of his paper work and designated a repair crew for the Flight Deck as well as the shuttle crafts. Pausing, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly before exiting the room. “Computer seal door, Authorization Dicari – Beta 3781 Pi,” the computer beeped acknowledging his access code and locked the door. Ever since he managed to sneak into the Commodore’s ready room he made sure he locked his door at all times just in case someone wanted to get revenge or retribution on him. Sighing, he thought to himself ‘It is sad that the only person I trust is a half-breed Vulcan who was placed as my acquaintance on coincidence.’

Getting on the turbo-lift he told it where he wanted to go and within minutes he was stepping off on the deck that Sakarra’s quarter was located… taking a few moments to compose himself he stepped in front of her door and pressed the chime. He was frightened, nervous, anxious, and determined all at the same time. This was going to be an undertaking like no other for him, but it beat being blind.

The last shuttle missions had been somewhat ‘rough rides’ to use a Terran euphemism, and Sakarra had been most gratified when she had finally been able to step into a steaming hot shower. Yet there was still another matter to attend to. Her heavy, dark blue robe swishing pleasantly around her legs, the young half-Vulcan proceeded to place her meditation pillows under the small window and allowed her mind to drift as she lit the candles with slow, languid movements.

Settling comfortably on her knees, she stretched her arms up and around, finally bringing her hands together under her chin. Just as the peace and warmth of her quarters had succeeded in letting her relax sufficiently, the door chime rang in her ears. “Enter.”

Stepping into Sakarra’s quarters Cyrin took a moment to look around, the first thing he noticed is that it was very calm in there, organized, and warm. To warm for his own taste. He noticed the Kal-toh game and Sehlat statue, though he didn’t know it was Sehlat. He had only attempted to play Kal-toh once before but he didn’t have the discipline nor the mind set to even be playing at that time.

He watched as the candles flames flickered shadows across the walls and other belongings in the room, he watched for a few moments entranced by their dance, as if they were calling to him…beckoning him to join in their dance. Stepping softly towards Sakarra he made note of the dark blue robe she wore and the pillows under a small window. “Sakarra…” he said still not used to calling her that, especially considering there was no formal declaration of friendship between them. He didn’t know what to do next so he fiddled a bit with his uniform straightening it up in a compulsive manner.

One did truly not need to be an empath to realize how unsettled the young half-Betazoid was and Sakarra exhaled softly as she saw him nestling with his uniform jacket. However, all of this would prove quite an exercise in futility unless he would allow himself to relax. Which was the only thing she needed him to do, at least at the moment.

The young woman tipped her head in a friendly greeting and motioned for Cyrin to take a seat while she got up in one fluent, elegant motion before walking towards the replicator. By ancient Vulcan custom, a guest would be offered cold water upon entering one’s home, a most logical courtesy on a desert planet. Still, this ship was home to a wide variety of species and it was only reasonable to modify certain customs to suit the circumstances. “May I offer you coffee, Cyrin Dicari? Or rather some Jestral tea?”

Slowly moving over to the pillow Cyrin sat down and unzipped his jacket, small droplets of sweat could be seen forming on his brow. “I…” he started before swallowing, “I will take whatever you are having,” he responded.

Shifting a bit on the pillow he returned his gaze towards the candles watching their flames continue to dance with their exotically entrancing moves. He had never before been entranced by the flames. His curiosity got the better of him, “Do they always do that?” he asked.

Sakarra briefly gave the young half-Betazoid a puzzled glance and then realized it was the meditation candles that had caught his interest. “Indeed they do.” If someone looked very closely and knew Sakarra fairly well, they might have seen a small shifting in her facial muscles, the predawn of her ever so rare smiles.

A light touch on the replicator panel accessed her personal settings and without having to speak, Sakarra watched two glasses of Jestral tea shimmer into solid form. The freshly brewed variety would most certainly have been preferable, however one could not always indulge in such extravagancies. She carried the tea back to where Cyrin was still shifting uncomfortably and settled back on her pillow with her usual easy grace. After setting down her own glass, she offered the second one to the young Betazoid, studying his unhappy face with mild concern.

“Esh’uh” she said in her low, melodious voice. “Breathe.”

“Thank you,” he said accepting the Jestral tea while inhaling the fumes before taking a sip. He tore his eyes off of the candles flame and looked at Sakarra and attempted to ‘breathe’, part of him wanted to move and fidget but the part of him that wanted his ‘gift’ back took control. He wasn’t quite sure how to ‘breathe’ or at least the way she wanted him to so he switched to breathing normally before he became light headed. “Am I…how am I supposed to breathe?” He asked even though it was a very redundant question.

For just a moment, Sakarra blinked. It was either that or insult the young man with eyes as dark as her own by showing a clear outwards sign of humor. “For right now, Cyrin Dicari, the simple act of drawing air shall suffice.” When he looked at her with a nonplussed expression, she felt it might be helpful to elaborate. “You were holding your breath.”

She brushed back a few unruly curls and slowly picked up her tea, throwing the young Betazoid an inquisitive glance. “I am certain you are aware that my empathic skills are virtually non-existent. However, even so your entire body language suggests severe anxiety. Understandable, considering to your condition. If there is anything I might be able to do that would help you become less tense, please do not hesitate to point it out.” Frankly, what Sakarra wished she could do was simply drop this young one off in the middle of T’Shen’s courtyard. The healers there had a way about them that would make a warp core breach relax and wonder what all the fuss was about.

Returning his breathing to normal he took another sip of the Jestral tea, she was right he was very anxious but it was par for the course especially considering he hadn’t been able to see properly for quite some time. Small beadlets of sweat continued to form on his brow, “Perhaps I will take you up on your offer. I know that on Vulcan it is hotter than most worlds, and seeing as you are part Vulcan I understand this, but do you think for the time being you could possibly turn the heat down just a tad? If you would rather not I understand.” ‘Of course she could have it warm in here to help me relax, or even because she fears getting another cold…’ he thought to himself allowing a slight smile to escape his face. He watched Sakarra, ‘Why out of all the potential crewmembers do I trust her more than I trust myself?’ he pondered as one of the flames did some kind of leap in the air catching his attention.

“Certainly. Computer, lower ambient temperature to thirty-one degrees Celsius.” Sakarra waited for the small chime that announced the computer’s compliance and resisted the reflexive cringe when the air around her rapidly cooled. Still quite tolerable, all things considered. A fresh, cool morning on Vulcan or a nice afternoon in Betazed’s subtropical zone. But without the thick layers of her uniform or a slightly heavier robe, somewhat on the chilly side. “Hm.” Once more she got up in one fluent movement and noticed with a hint of humor that the candles had caught the young Betazoid’s interest again. Well, one worked with what one had, no? If this would help him focus, all the better.

Sakarra retrieved the dark blue mantle-like overcoat which was meant to be worn with this particular robe; flowing freely from the high collar all the way to the floor, it’s outer seams were interlaced with warm red-golden threads and her family’s sigil shimmered in the same color. After merely 12 seconds she returned to see Cyrin still watching the dancing flames, the tea all but forgotten in his now much steadier hand. Not even the rustling of the heavy fabric seemed to interrupt his thoughts, whatever they might be, and the young half-Vulcan briefly paused with head tilted to one side and hands loosely folded behind her back.

Finally, she arrived at a decision and rather than returning to her pillow, settled comfortably right behind the young Betazoid, taking care to make sufficient noise in doing so. “Tell me then, Cyrin Dicari. When you look at the flames - what is it you see?”

Hearing Sakarra settle behind him he didn’t make a motion to look back at her, setting the tea down he placed his hands on his crossed legs. He thought about her question still watching the flame, “I…I…I am not sure, it is like a dance. Almost reminiscent of a ballet. It’s jeté, pirouettes, and Tour en l’air remind me of the ballet.” He answered still watching the flame as visions of Romeo and Juliet entered his mind and the score was by Sergey Prokofiev also entered his mind. “The ballet Romeo and Juliet with Sergey Prokofiev’s score,” he answered.

Rather unusual, if certainly interesting. And it might indeed prove helpful. Sakarra studied the young Ensign’s posture - still tense, although visibly less so than he had been just minutes ago. “You appreciate ballet, yes? While I am certainly no expert on the subject, it is my understanding the dancers need a fair amount of both confidence and self control. What would happen if one suddenly lost both of these attributes?”

“I spent some time in France, my father was from Paris. As was the origin of ballet.” He responded to her first question. “The dancer could get seriously injured, almost to the point of injuring others and perhaps losing their ability to dance again.” He answered making an analogy to the physical aspect of ballet. He continued to watch the flame dance.

“Precisely.” Sakarra’s voice was deep and level now, warm and soothing as dark velvet. She stretched out her arms, reaching around Cyrin with great care not to touch him and let him see her hands, palms up, before retreating slightly to place her fingertips against his tense shoulder muscles. “Will you allow me to assist you in at least regaining your balance so you might remember the dance as well as realize what it was that made you … fall?” Immediately, she felt him cringe again and had to stifle a small sigh. “I will not touch your mind, Cyrin Dicari. In fact, even neuropressure is difficult with this amount of fabric intervening.” He was nervous enough, Betazoid Deities alone knew what might happen if she asked him to remove his upper garments. And pointing out his highly illogical behavior would most likely not be helpful either. Still, there was no way to even get him near a meditative state if he insisted on clinging to his fears. And there was an abundance of those, that much even this light touch confirmed.

“The question might be pointless since you obviously have not been able to reach a solution by meditating in solitude, however did you ever practice any of the Betazoid meditation techniques?”

He was nervous about her closeness to him, she had touched his mind once by his request. It was an experience that he didn’t care for. He knew instinctively that she wasn’t lying when she told him she wouldn’t touch his mind, but the possibility she could do it still lingered.

When she spoke of dance, he knew she was referring to the dance of his energy, not the dance itself. “We are taught to meditate, I tried using a standard focal point to focus my energy. But it didn’t work.” The only good it had done for him was continue to have better control over his body. He began to wonder if perhaps one of the reasons he couldn’t focus was because of his human heritage, though that was a side of him that was just there, he embraced his Betazoid heritage more so than his human lineage. The flame in front of him continued to maintain its dance.

The raven haired Vulcan nodded slightly. It was possibly the most basic form of focusing one’s mind, and as such immensely helpful to an otherwise healthy individual. Not surprisingly though, it was woefully inadequate in this circumstance. “It did not work because in order for the dancer to leave the ground, he cannot be afraid to leap. Envisioning the pirouette is but the first step. An important one, yes. Yet at some point the ensemble must be prepared to move. So let me ask you again, Cyrin Dicari. What is it you fear? Or should I rather ask, what is it you fear more than living blind?”